Everything
by HootiePGH
Summary: a shower thought came to me one morning: "it's never going to mean nothing, but why does it have to mean everything?" this is what that thought turned into.


**Everything**

Sam/Dean, pre-series up to s1e1, PG-13, implied m/m, implied underage m/m, incest

my own prompt: "It's never going to mean _nothing,_ but why does it have to mean _everything_?"

The fight was a major blow-up. It was an epic battle of wills that almost turned into a brawl. Sam threw out every single mistake he thought Dad made in raising them. Dad countered with examples of how Sam never wanted to be part of their truncated family. Eighteen years of accusations, frustration, and repression exploded all over the walls of the small house they were living in.

Initially, Dean had tried to smooth things over between Sam and Dad and calm them down. But it quickly became apparent that this was not something that was going to blow over by sending the combatants to their corners. So Dean went out back and focused on knife throwing at their homemade target. He tried hard not to listen to the actual words being said, but he heard the pain they catapulted at each other in endless volleys. Inside, the furniture stood as the only mute witnesses to the confrontation.

When the tsunami had cleared, there was the frame-rattling sound of two doors slamming followed by the angry growl of Dad's truck. When Dean heard the squeal of tires as his Dad punched the truck from reverse into drive and peeled out, that's when he abandoned the knives and went inside to Sam.

Sam's back was to Dean, packing his bag with barely contained fury, when Dean quietly opened their door and stepped into the room. He didn't say a word; just silently dropped a firm hand onto Sam's shoulder and squeezed gently.

Sam froze, dropping his head to gaze unseeingly at the shirt in his hands. He turned to Dean, his face covered with the tracks of tears he refused to shed in front of Dad but let out in a torrent once he was alone. He didn't want to look this vulnerable in front of Dean, but Dad's decree that if he was gonna go he should stay gone pushed him over the edge. There was no stopping the waterworks after that.

They stood like that – Dean's firm, consoling hand on Sam's shoulder; Sam silently gazing into the abyss of his worldly possessions – for what seemed like hours, but was actually only minutes.

"I don't know what to say, Sam," Dean finally whispered.

"Does it matter?" Sam asked just as quietly.

"Of course it matters," Dean replied with a bit of bite. "I don't like seeing you like this. But I don't know what I can do to make it better."

Sam swiftly turned and launched himself at Dean, his arms octopussing around Dean's body to pull him close so they could feel each other's heartbeats thundering in their chests, echoing one another, belonging to one another.

"Say you'll come with me. Step away from this life. Step out of Dad's shadow. Start something fresh and new with me. It will be an adventure like you've never been on before. And the best part is that at the end of the day, we get to live." The words tumbled out of Sam's mouth before he could even think. "If you do that, that will make everything better," he promised.

Dean paused for a moment. But the lapse was so inconsequential Sam didn't even notice that there was one, brief, shining millisecond when Dean actually considered it. "You know I can't," he said instead, the words tasting like vinegar even as he spoke them. All his life he'd given his Sammy whatever he wanted, but now, for what seemed like the first time ever, he had to tell him "no." And worse, he had to mean it.

When Dean told Sam no, Dean only held onto him tighter as if in that moment they were immortalized in marble, forever clutching each other and never letting go.

"I know," Sam acknowledged, fresh tears cascading down his cheeks. "Ask me to stay, Dean. I would stay for you. Just ask me. Tell me not to go. Remind me that my life is here."

"I can't do that, either," Dean told him solemnly. "All I want is for you to be happy. And your happiness is not here."

"I'm happy with you," Sam said miserably.

Dean gave a sad little chuckle. "No, you aren't."

Sam unraveled himself from Dean and pushed him slightly away to look into his eyes. "Wherever you are, that's where my happiness is."

Dean looked back at him calculatingly. "If you truly believe that, you're lying to yourself."

Abruptly Sam dropped his arms and moved away from Dean. This was not how this was supposed to go. They were supposed to be together against all odds.

"Are you telling me that we… us… together… means nothing to you?" he asked Dean incredulously.

Before Dean could answer, his mind took a swift trip down memory lane. There was the time in Montana when they were werewolf hunting. The pack leader had attacked their father and broken his leg, leaving him laid up in the hunting cabin they had taken over. So Dean took young Sammy and they went out to finish the job themselves. After a long fight that started with an ambush in the forest, they had both been so glad to still be breathing that after cleaning each other off with holy water and an altar cloth – the only things they could find in the car and boy, was Dad pissed at _that _one – and not finding any bite marks, they pulled each other close and held on tightly before collapsing in the backseat of the Impala for an awkward, fumbling, life-affirming make-out session. At that moment, it felt as if while they were sharing one another's breath, then nothing could happen to them and they would always be alive.

From there the slide was gradual and natural. There were stolen kisses behind Dad's back on particularly rough days and sleeping curled up next to each other every night even when they stayed in houses or apartments with their own beds or rooms. Plus there were more fumblings in the backseat of the car late at night with less and less clothes. Then, finally, coming together completely in another secluded cabin in the woods when Dad was out with a couple other hunters. While the hunters chased a wendigo two counties over one hot July in the mountains, the boys had a lake right out their backdoor and they rarely even bothered to get dressed for almost the whole month.

In the year since the cabin in the woods, Sam had given himself over body and soul to Dean. To keep Dad in the dark, they'd go on "double dates," sometimes actually with girls whom they would take home early and then spend the rest of the night together, coming home disheveled and grinning brightly. Occasionally they went out on "dates" separately, always meeting up to go out together, arriving home not quite at the same time, but definitely within fifteen minutes of each other.

But there were also times when Dean went out alone. Sometimes he went on a date with a local girl he met at the gas station, in the grocery store, or, that one time, at a dog-grooming salon. Sometimes he went to a bar to pick-up a girl for the night. On those occasions, he never came home early. And even though he missed sharing the time with Sam, he was okay with those nights, too. He also knew that no matter what, Sam would welcome him back with open arms. Because Dean knew that as much as Sam thought he wanted Dean, he knew Sam was wrong. Dean wasn't good enough to be Sam's one and only, like Sam seemed to believe he was. So going out and using the girls he picked up kept a padding around his heart with which Dean was comfortable. Not necessarily happy, but it kept him from slipping into total misery.

In the blink of an eye, Dean remembered all of this and said, "Of course it does. You mean the world to me."

Sam glared at him. "Not me, Dean. _Us. _ You're acting like we're nothing. You're throwing it all away."

In an instant, Dean was angry. Angry that Sam was leaving and angry that he was choosing _now _to try staking his claim. "It's never going to mean _nothing_, but why does it have to mean _everything_?" He didn't want Sam to get hurt. All he ever wanted was Sam to be happy and safe. Being with Dean was neither.

"Because it does," Sam shot back just as angrily. "That's the way love works." He stared at his brother across the divide of their room. Both of them stood stock still, staring each other down, neither willing to give an inch. "What about all those times you said 'I love you'?"

That's when Dean gave up on the staring contest to roll his eyes. "C'mon, Sammy. You know I do, but what you're talking about was said only in the heat of the moment."

Sam folded his arms across his chest in defiance. "Really? That's all? Because I've been hearing it from you for more than eighteen years, but I never felt it or believed it more than when I was in your arms."

Now Dean's eye roll was accompanied by his arms thrown up in the air. "Jesus Christ, Sam. When did you turn into such a girl?"

_Probably around the same time you turned into such an asshole_, Sam thought. But those words never left his mouth because Dean already had stormed from the room and out the front door. Moments later, the Impala pulled out of the driveway, too.

~oOo~

The next morning, Sam woke up in his room alone with the early morning sun slanting through the blinds. He had spent most of the night staring at Dean's pillow, wishing he would come back. He had wanted one more night together before he left for his future. The future that would be without Dean. Without Dad. Without family.

Before he could even fully blink himself awake, the bedroom door crashed open and Dean stood there with a frying pan and spatula yelling, "Rise and shine, college boy. We gotta get you to your ride on time."

When Sam looked up, that patented dazzling Dean Winchester smile shone back at him, erasing the harsh words and sick feelings in his stomach from the evening before. There was no way he could leave Dean on a sour note. So Sam couldn't help but smile, too. "I'm up. Damn, Dean. You don't have to be so loud. Jerk."

"This early in the morning? Yeah, I do. Bitch." Then he headed back to the kitchen, whistling.

Sam shook his head, wondering what had happened between their heated argument last night and the bright wake-up call this morning to turn Dean into a domestic goddess. He glanced at the clock on Dean's side of the room. 6:00 am. Well, that explained it. Dean was obviously still drunk.

Sam lay there a moment longer, gazing longingly at Dean's pillow again. _No fairy tale ending to this chapter, apparently,_ he thought. Then he swung himself out of bed to join his brother in the kitchen.

He was still sleepily ruffling his hands through his hair when he walked in the kitchen to find a veritable breakfast buffet set out for him. The table was covered in plates of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, orange juice, and coffee. There was even a pot of oatmeal. And something else lingered in the air that he couldn't quite place.

"What's that smell?" Sam asked, sticking his nose into the air and sniffing tentatively.

Dean chuckled. "Well, they started out as hash browns but just became black bricks. Now they're the doorstops propping the back door open to get the smell out. Thank Christ we unplugged the smoke detectors."

Sam just smiled and shook his head, digging into the deliciously edible food surrounding him. When he saw the oatmeal, he raised his eyebrows. "Wow. You made oatmeal? It's not even fried. And it doesn't have meat in it." He narrowed his eyes and looked cautiously down into the pot. "Unless you hid the meat at the bottom. Did you hide meat at the bottom?"

Dean's eyes crinkled as he kept on smiling. "No, dickwad. There is no hidden meat in the oatmeal. But I totally draw the line at douchebag hippy food. That's why there's no wussy organic grapefruit or that granola crap." He spooned food onto his own plate. "Just shut up and eat. Growing boys need a hearty breakfast."

That effectively killed the merriment. "I'm not a boy anymore, Dean."

Looking at his eggs as if they held the correct answer, Dean said quietly, "Believe me. I know you're not."

Just as quietly, Sam asked, "Where's Dad?"

"Two towns over in Springfield. An old corps buddy of Dad's lives there. He called and Dad went to see him last night." Dean rolled his eyes. "Something about some three-eyed fish. Sounds like a fuckin' industrial accident or chemical spill to me. I'm going to meet him after I drop you off."

Sam just shook his head thinking what a tragedy it was that his Dad couldn't even put their differences aside to tell him goodbye. As far as Sam was concerned, he didn't even have to tell him good luck. Sam just was looking for some sort of acknowledgement that Sam wouldn't be there tomorrow morning when he woke up. Was that too much to… wait a minute…

Sam looked up at Dean. "You're dropping me off? Where?"

Dean shrugged. "At the bus station. Your ticket says the bus leaves at 9am. I figured there was time for breakfast, pack any last minute things, stop at the store if we need to, and then head over to the station in time for loading. You're still going, right?"

"Yeah, I'm still going," Sam assured him, his words coated with infinite bitterness.

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence. Every time Sam tried to push away from the table, Dean would spoon more food onto his plate, keeping Sam as his breakfast buffet hostage. When Dean forked the last link of sausage onto Sam's plate, that's when he said, "Dude. First, enough. They're gonna have to roll me onto the bus. And second, you're actually giving me the last piece of meat? Seriously? Are you terminally ill or something?"

Dean huffed, "It's a once in a lifetime thing, princess. Don't get used to it."

To Sam, it was the best piece of sausage he ever ate. Because with each bite, he was pretty sure he tasted all the things that Dean would never say out loud. All of them being: Yes, Sam, I want to come with you; No, Sam, please don't go, stay here with me; I love you, Sam. I just want us to be together.

They lapsed into silence again. Dean started cleaning up all the dishes from the breakfast feast while Sam went and showered and dressed. On his way from the kitchen back to the bedroom, he noticed Dean's boots kicked under the coffee table in the living room and an old soft blanket and pillow on the couch. Dean hadn't been out all night; he slept on the couch. He just hadn't come back to Sam. Sam tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, but somehow the tears wouldn't let him.

~oOo~

At 8 o'clock, Dean picked up Sam's bags off his bed and started out to the car with them.

"Take a look around carefully and make sure you have everything you need," he ordered Sam as he stood in the doorway to their room.

When Sam heard the front door slam, he strode quickly over to Dean's bed. He stripped the pillowcase from Dean's pillow and quickly replaced it with a fresh one he had tucked into his interior jacket pocket. Quickly, he folded Dean's used pillowcase and thrust it into a ziplock bag, sealing the scent of Dean inside. He tucked the baggy into his jacket pocket and headed for the front door.

~oOo~

Dean stopped at a quickmart and filled his arms with three bottles of water, five protein bars, a large bag of peanut M&Ms, a Mountain Dew, and Busty Asian Beauties. Dean picked up a black marker that was sitting on the counter, made a notation, and left the marker where he found it. When the cashier handed him the flimsy plastic bags, he tied each of them in a tight knot so Sam couldn't immediately rummage through them to see what was inside.

Before pulling out of the station, he asked Sam, "Are you sure you have everything? There's nothing you want to run in and get?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "For the hundredth time, yes, I'm sure. And I know you're gonna ask me again in ten minutes. I'll be sure then, too." Dean was in full-on mother hen mode. The same way he acted any time they would be separated for an extended length of time.

Dean drove them to the bus station. They didn't say anything. There was so much to say and so much that couldn't be said. Certainly too much to be covered in a ten minute car trip. They each sat in the silence, alone with their thoughts.

At the first stoplight they came to, Dean switched on the radio. Motley Crue was heralding that they were on their way to home, sweet, home. Dean pressed another button. Ozzy Osbourne was screaming mama I'm coming home. Nope. Dean pressed the one button that he allowed Sam to preset and came to the Cranberries who were claiming their life was changing every day in every possible way. Next button. This time The Mamas & The Papas were California Dreamin'. Oh hell, no. He resoundingly snapped the radio off. Sam didn't say a word.

When they pulled in to the depot, Sam went and dropped his bags at the loading area and showed his ticket to the driver. Then he grabbed Dean by the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him into a secluded corner.

Before Sam could start saying the girly crap that Dean knew was coming, he felt around the large interior pockets of his leather jacket. Hey, it may be summer, but he still had an image to uphold. Even in this podunk little town.

"Here," he said, thrusting a small phone into Sam's hand. It was a small, brand new pink metallic Nokia. "That's supposed to be even better than those teeny tiny Motorola Star-Tacs people were going apeshit over a couple years ago. I already stored my number in speed dial 2. And I stored that number in my speed dial. Day or night, it doesn't matter. You need me, you call. You got that?" He watched Sam nod. "In fact, even if you don't need me, just call."

Dean didn't hear what Sam mumbled, but it certainly sounded like "I'll always need you." He didn't even complain about the pretty princess pink Dean had selected.

From another pocket, Dean pulled out an envelope and handed it to Sam. Sam peered inside to see a thick stack of bills, almost all twenties. He looked up at Dean with his mouth hanging open.

Dean smirked. "It's a little over two grand. You remember those cocky asshole Carr brothers? I picked all three of 'em off one at a time last night for five hundred bucks each on the tables. Plus I had a few side bets going with some of the crowd." He winked at Sam. "Never get in the way of a Winchester when he's on a mission."

Sam stuffed the thick envelope down the back of his jeans just like he would his gun and tucked the tail of his t-shirt into the waist also for extra protection. He was used to feeling some sort of weight back there, so if anything happened to dislodge the money, he'd know immediately.

"Thank you," Sam breathed out earnestly. Dean blushed.

Once again, silence overtook them. Yeah, Winchesters weren't much for talking (especially when it came to their feelings), but this was ridiculous.

"I don't know how to do this," Sam confessed, staring down at his shoes with his hands shoved in his jeans pockets.

"Sure you do, Sam. You just get on the bus and don't look back. Like you did when you left us for Flagstaff," Dean reminded him.

Sam's head snapped up. "Seriously? You know I'm leaving. Do you really have to push me away harder?"

Now it was Dean's turn to stare at the ground. That one was below the belt and he knew it.

Sam looked at his shoes again and kicked at Dean's boots with the toe of his sneakers. "I really wanted to spend last night with you. Why didn't you come to me?" he asked quietly.

Dean was silent for so long that if Sam wasn't touching Dean with his foot, he might have thought Dean had left. "Because I meant what I said yesterday. I want you to be happy. For me, that's as good as it gets. If I would have come to you last night, one of two things would have happened. Either you would have stayed here with me or we would have jumped in the Impala and left for Stanford together last night. Either way you wouldn't be getting on that bus. And no matter what you said, your happiness is not with me. You need to go find it."

"When will you understand how much I love you?" Sam shook his head sadly. "You are everything to me. Even when you're out doing god knows what with god knows who, I am there waiting for you." He thought for a moment and then shook his head again. "So I guess you are right. My happiness is not with you. It's with my ideal of you. My happiness is with the guy who makes me laugh when I feel my worst, comforts me when he knows I need it, and, most of the time, just _is_ because somehow, almost without trying, he pulls people in with his gravity so they can orbit in his space, even if it's only for a little while, because that's just who he is. And he knows it."

There was nothing to say in response. Sure, there were probably words out there that were perfect, just hanging out of Dean's reach, unable to grasp the thought or words because there was part of him that knew he wasn't good enough for Sam, that Sam deserved better. Why give Sam all the love he had when he was sure that would never be enough? He sure as hell didn't belong on that pedestal where Sam had just hoisted him.

As if reading his mind, Sam said, "You are those things, you know. But you'll only ever give me one small piece at a time." Once again, tears were silently sliding down Sam's cheeks. "Damn it, Dean. I want you. But I don't want someone who won't give me their all." Sam wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket. He brought his hands up to cup Dean's face. Then he moved in and planted a sweet and tender kiss on Dean's lips. Pulling back, his hands sliding down the front of Dean, he said, "When you're ready to give everything, you let me know."

Then, with his new phone in his pocket and giant wad of cash stuffed into the back of his jeans, Sam walked toward the bus without looking back.

Dean stayed there, head down, staring at the space Sam had been standing in until the sound of the bus's diesel engine faded away. Damn, his little brother sure was leaving him speechless lately. It was only after the bus had completely disappeared that Dean looked up and whispered, "Please don't go."

When Dean reached into his jacket pocket for his car keys, he found a folded up piece of paper. He unfolded it and recognized Sam's handwriting that read _You'll always know where you can find me_ followed by his address at school.

On the bus, the first thing Sam did was open the tightly tied bags from the mini mart they had stopped at. The first bag had bottles of water and a Mountain Dew. _Dean didn't get his soda out of the bag, _was his immediate thought. Then he opened the second bag. Mixed in with the protein bars was a large bag of peanut M&Ms, Dean's favorite. Sam was wondering if the bags were supposed to be his at all. Especially when he found Busty Asian Beauties at the bottom. Then he noticed _Have fun! D_ messily scrawled across the cover girl's breasts. His smile was bittersweet. Yeah, it was all for him.

~oOo~

When Dean left the bus terminal, he headed to Springfield to meet up with Dad.

It turned out that the three-eyed fish was just a bullshit excuse to stay away from home while Sam was still there and get shitfaced to forget about him leaving. Not that that was a surprise. Once again, Dean thought that any three-eyed aquatic life form was less a supernatural mystery than it was a Three Mile Island-type problem. No matter what, he sure as hell wasn't eating any fish Dad and Tom his corps buddy caught in that stocked pond on Tom's property.

Then Dad decided getting shitfaced for a while seemed like a pretty good idea, so he sent Dean back to pack up what remained at their rental house and bring it to Springfield where Tom and his wife invited them to stay. It was time to move on anyway.

When Dean got back to the small house, he didn't really want to go inside. There was no Sam here any more. By the time he packed up and got back to Springfield, drinking himself to oblivion sounded like a damn fine idea.

~oOo~

Sam didn't call Dean during the first week he was gone. There was so much to do. Among them: get everything set-up, get his class schedule, buy his books, start studying, learn the campus, and bond with his roommate. The last item on that list meant hopping around to various fraternity and house parties and meeting girls. Plus, most importantly, he had to check in with the admissions office to fill out the remaining papers about his scholarship and get his checklist of what would be required of him to maintain his scholarship.

At night, when he missed Dean most, he would pull the ziplock bag with Dean's pillowcase out of the jacket pocket he still kept it in, unzip the bag, and inhale deeply of his brother. Doing that did nothing to quash his feelings of love or loneliness now that Dean wasn't within arms reach.

On the night of his tenth day gone, he picked up the little pink phone and hit 2.

After two rings, Dean's bubbly voice answered with drunken loudness, "Sammy!"

Sam smiled dimple deep just at the sound of his voice. "Hey."

"So how's college life?"

"Same as high school life: filled with books."

Dean snorted. "Of course it is, you geek. Have you talked to a member of the opposite sex? In fact, have you even seen one? Or are you already studying for your mid-terms?"

Sam rolled his eyes and said flatly, "Ha ha. Jerk."

"You know I'm right. Bitch."

"I will have you know that I have gone to several fraternity parties."

"Where I bet you stood against a wall with a warm beer in your hand, not drinking it."

"That's not true." Even though Dean couldn't see him, Sam knew the blush that covered his face would be apparent to him even over the phone. "I drank the beer," he told Dean defensively.

Sam could hear and almost see the wide smile in Dean's voice as he shook his head and said, "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy."

"And what sophisticated entertainment are you pursuing?" he challenged.

"Check out that vocabulary! I guess college really is a higher education."

"Shut up."

Dean took a long, luxuriant, deep breath and let it out. The epitome of relaxation and not having a care in the world. But it was all fake. "Sammy, just like Otis Redding, I am sittin' on the dock of the bay wastin' time."

"The dock of the bay? Where the hell are you?"

"Well, it's actually the dock of the pond. But I'm definitely wasting time. We're still at Tom's in Springfield."

"Obviously drinking a lot of beer, too."

"Apparently more than you, college boy."

"Any three-eyed fish?"

"Yeah… not so much. But if I have any more beer, everything is gonna start lookin' like it has three eyes."

"Good to know things haven't changed."

"Sure they have. You're not here." Dean answered back jovially, but his smiled deflated immediately. "I miss you," he said quietly.

"I miss you, too," Sam whispered back.

"Don't take so long between phone calls."

"Phones work both ways, Dean."

Dean chuckled. "How's that pretty pink princess phone workin' out for ya?"

"Works great. It connects me to you."

"Then it's awesome."

"It is awesome," Sam agreed. "Does Dad know we're talking?"

"No. While I'm sittin' on the dock of the pond, him and Tom are up at the house burning dinner on the grill. I think Tom's wife is manning the fire extinguisher."

"Don't tell him I called."

"I won't, Sammy," Dean promised.

A few seconds of silence passed. "So," started Sam, moving the conversation to more comfortable ground, "cooling off with a beer and dangling your feet in the water off a pier sounds pretty relaxing."

"Oh hell no. You actually think I'm touching water that can mutate fish and make them grow a third eye?" Dean asked in horror.

Sam laughed. "You said there were no three-eyed fish."

"We've seen weirder shit, Sammy, so the possibility exists. I'm not chancing it," Dean explained logically. He took a swig of beer. "So tell me all about those ivory towers you're now calling home…"

~oOo~

And so it went. Every week they called each other. Sam would tell Dean about his classes and what he was learning and Dean would tell Sam about the monster of the week he was hunting. Neither really listened to the words or the details. They were just content to hear the other's voice. By the time they disconnected, neither of them could tell you what in the hell they spoke about, but they could tell you they spoke with their brother.

Dean talked Dad into taking jobs out west so he could take a weekend to escape to Palo Alto and visit Sam. The first time he went there, driving down the strip of hotels and motels not far from the campus, Dean chose The Glass Slipper Inn since Sam was such a pretty, pretty princess. Sam figured out that that was Dean's reason without Dean even telling him so. Sometimes his brother was so transparent. It turned out that it was clean and decent and had pretty good amenities. That became their rendezvous point. They never left the room all weekend anyway, so it really didn't matter. Dean stopped by once a semester and Sam anticipated every visit.

Every Sunday after a long, passionate goodbye kiss, but before they parted ways, Sam would ask, "How is everything?" Which, of course, was Sam's way of saying "Are you ready to man up yet and be in a real relationship?" Invariably, Dean would just shrug, indicating that he really hadn't given the whole prospect that much thought. That drove Sam nuts. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, shouldn't Dean be champing at the bit to be permanently and irrevocably joined? Dean actually did think about it a lot and always came to the same conclusion: not going to happen; it wasn't in Sam's best interest.

Heading into Sam's sophomore year, his classes got harder and their phones calls became sporadic. Dean still visited and Sam still asked his question. Until winter of his sophomore year.

It was January and the spring semester had just begun. Only two weeks in and Sam was already starting to feel overwhelmed by his heavier course load. He was working on drafts of papers for two classes and already feeling behind in his other three. There was so much reading to do.

It was one of their weekends at The Glass Slipper. Sam got the room late Friday afternoon, so he was propped on the bed studying when Dean arrived that night. Since it was still early, when Dean walked through the door, Sam threw his book on the floor and attacked Dean with the fervor he seemed to reserve just for these weekends. Afterward they lay on their sides like a yin and yang symbol, pillowing their heads on each other's knees, talking about what they'd seen and done since the last time they'd been together.

Much to Dean's delight, Sam actually did have a few drunken fraternity party stories to share. Unfortunately, most of the stories had to do with the asinine antics of others, but at least Sam was there to witness them. Like the guy who was sucking down a beer bong when one of his fraternity brothers started pouring Jack Daniels into the funnel at the top. He had poured nearly half a bottle into the funnel before the drinker spit the tube from his mouth and then spun in a slow circle, puking on every single person within a five-foot radius.

Then Dean told Sam about gremlins that took over a little girl's Barbie collection. It seemed the little chaos-causing nasties thought they could get away with more in the small-waisted, large-busted bodies with their flowing blond hair, blue eyes, and dazzling smiles. And they could look great doing it. It was when neighborhood pets started showing up dead with little hot pink stilettos left by their corpses that the little girl's mother started getting suspicious. Especially because every few days her daughter would insist that her Barbies just simply didn't have enough shoes. Dean summed up the case with, "Those fuckers were more Stripe than Gizmo, man. There's nothing cute or sexy about Barbie puncturing you with her stilettos. That bitch is mean." It took a flamethrower to dispose of the problem.

By then it was too late for anything else. They simply rearranged themselves on the bed and picked up all the pillows and blankets that had gotten tossed around the room in their frantic need for each other. Once they were settled, they slept fitfully wrapped up together.

Then Dean woke up on Saturday to find Sam nowhere near the bed, buried in his book. Dean crawled out of bed and went about doing the things he usually did for his daily routine, knowing the whole reason Sam was in Palo Alto in the first place was to go to school, so he left him to his books and other fun study… stuff. In fact, Dean left him alone with his books most of the day.

It was around dinnertime that Sam started to crack. Apparently he was thinking about things other than his studies but he was approaching the upcoming conflict from a place of Zen. It was weird.

"So what do you feel like for dinner? Chinese, tacos, pizza, burgers…" Dean listed for him.

"Whatever you want, Dean," Sam answered calmly without looking up from his work.

"We could go to that steakhouse down the street if you wanted to get out."

"Whatever you want, Dean."

"We could order from that Japanese place. Then when it gets here, cover our bodies with sushi and eat it off each other with no hands."

"Whatever you want, Dean."

Dean scowled at him. "I think I have some deep-fried Gremlin Barbie left in the trunk."

"Whatever you want, Dean."

"For fuck's sake, Sam," Dean said, slamming his hand over the pages Sam was trying to read. "We don't see each other that often. Is it too much to ask that you actually pay attention when I ask you a question?"

Instead of ranting, Sam very calmly and slowly sat back in his chair. "What do you want from me, Dean?" he asked in a completely cold and dead voice. "I told you before I came here that it had to be all or nothing with us. You certainly haven't given your all." He was laying it out logically. "And idiot that I am, I still make myself available when you can fit me into your schedule. What do you do for me?"

Dean didn't answer him.

"I can handle the phone calls. I can handle hearing your voice. But this," Sam spread his arms out wide. "I can't do this any more. I can't look in your eyes. I can't look at your face. I can't see your hands. Because when I do, that's all I want. And I'm willing to throw everything else away to get them. And I can't do that. Not any more." Sam broke eye contact with Dean and looked down, shaking his head. "You're disrupting my life. And you're killing me. Every time we say goodbye at the end of the weekend and I know, once again, that you're not willing to give everything, you're killing me."

There wasn't anything Dean could say to that. He spent his time consumed by the job. When there was a break in the job, he spent his time consumed by random, nameless, faceless women. None of them were what he wanted, but he tried. If Sam could try to have normal, so could he. All of it in an effort to forget the one person he really wanted to be with. Apparently it wasn't working. For anyone. But he could try to make it work for Sam. Help give Sam the future he so richly deserved.

Without another word, Dean picked up his duffle and dropped it near the door. Lately he had taken to keeping everything in his bag in case he had to make a quick getaway from something that tried to follow him. Like Gremlin Barbies. He went back to Sam and handed him a thick envelope.

"On my way across the country to see you, I had a pretty good run. I figure since you're a poor college student, you could probably use some extra cash," Dean explained.

Sam numbly thumbed through the bills. If the last envelope like this that Dean had handed him contained over two grand, this one was easily over three. When he turned his face up to Dean to thank him, to apologize, to beg forgiveness, whatever, Dean leaned down and kissed him. Slowly, sweetly, lovingly.

"Bye, Sam. Study hard."

The door slammed. Dean was gone. Apparently it was his turn to walk away. The Glass Slipper was now nothing but a shattered careless memory.

~oOo~

That Monday, Sam met Jessica Moore.

On Tuesday, Sam vowed to stop calling Dean from his pretty pink princess phone. Seeing it was such a reminder of him that Sam turned the ringer off and placed the phone in the ziplock bag with Dean's pillowcase. Then he put it in the back corner of his closet. With the way their last weekend together ended, Sam didn't expect Dean to call him.

Sam threw himself even deeper into his studies. Anything to keep his mind occupied. Time moved on. And so did Sam.

Instead of spending time thinking about Dean, Sam dated Jessica. Besides school, she became the priority in his life. So much so that they got serious enough to move in together. Jessica glowed with happiness. Lucky for Sam, her smile warmed the cold shadows of his heart where Dean still lurked. But her warmth only dulled the shadows; it never fully erased them.

Because once a month, Sam would dig out his pretty pink princess phone from the dark recesses of a space carved out in their closet for a safe that was never installed by the landlord or former tenant, charge it, and check it. There were missed calls and texts and voicemails. There weren't many, but they were there, the number of each glowing on the display, letting him know someone had thought of him. At least enough to see he had 12 missed calls, 8 texts, and three voicemails. After he checked to see if any new ones had come in, which he only noted by seeing if the tallies were getting higher, he'd repackage the phone in the ziplock bag with the pillowcase and hide it away again.

~oOo~

Though completely numb when he first walked out of the room, by the time Dean pulled out of The Glass Slipper that Saturday evening, he was at war with himself. Several factions were fighting to be heard.

There was the lush faction that insisted they needed a stiff drink. Right. The fuck. Now. There was the fighting faction that wanted to go back and pound the hell out of Sam and then knock him the fuck out until next week. There was the fuck faction that said all Dean needed was some random bar girl to get naked with and that would effectively wash Sam out of his system. There was the self-abusive faction that said he deserved this for what he was putting Sam through.

A bit quieter was the love faction who was saying that he loved Sam. He should give himself over to him entirely and both of them would be better off.

But loudest of all was the logical faction who kept repeating that leaving Sam alone was the right thing to do. Let him live his life, Dean, you go and live yours.

"Shut the fuck up," he growled to himself and all the arguments jockeying for their turn at the front of Dean's brain. "Just… shut up," he told no one, quietly, defeat weighting down his words.

He violated every speed limit getting out of California as quickly as he could. He drove east and south, arriving at the bright lights of Las Vegas in five hours instead of the seven it would have normally taken to get there. Then he channeled his inner lush and drank everything that wasn't tied down. His favorite place was the Spearmint Rhino, the place he thought featured the best exotic dancers. After his first lap dance, he met three strippers who happened to be roommates and offered to take him in.

Things were looking up for Dean Winchester. So much so that it wasn't until Wednesday that he made his first phone call to Sam. As he suspected, it went straight to voicemail.

"It figures you wouldn't answer, you little punk," he snarled. "You know what, Sam? I don't need this shit. I don't need the guilt trips and lifelong commitments and, and, and… I just don't need it." He breathed harshly into the phone before adding an extra "fuck you" and hanging up.

Later that night when he was too drunk to actually see the buttons on his phone – thank god Sammy was 2 on speed dial – he called back. It went to voicemail again and Dean was glad it did. "I'll never be good enough for you. Just… no." That wasn't the message he wanted to leave, but he disconnected and left it as it was.

He called again drunk the next night and told Sam's voicemail, "This isn't what I wanted to happen."

A few days later, he left the house of strippers and Las Vegas, joining his dad back on the road in Tucumcari, New Mexico, one of the largest truck stop towns in the country.

After the last voicemail Dean left for Sam, he called and hung up several times, never leaving another message. He texted a few times just to let Sam know where he was. But after less than a month, he threw himself into hunting and didn't bother trying to contact Sam again. Sam knew how to get in touch with Dean if he wanted to.

And that was how their relationship remained for almost two years.

~oOo~

It was when Cassie threw him out not even ten minutes after he explained to her what it was he really did in life. That's when he knew. He wasn't supposed to be with her. There was someone else waiting for him.

While she was in the midst of calling him crazy and accusing him of making up stories to break-up with her, the realization hit Dean like a ton of bricks. Anyone who doesn't know about or believe in this life, doesn't belong in _his_ life. And he wasn't about to give up being an everyday hero. There were too many people out there who needed help.

At first, he was unsettled by this new turn of events. Dean thought he could possibly build something with Cassie. Then, knowing it wasn't going to happen, he was free. Free of the bindings of guilt that kept him from going after what he knows now is his.

Dean and Dad finished up in Ohio and then split up to work jobs separately, figuring they could cover more of the country that way. That gave Dean time in the Impala alone. Time to work out what he had to do and what he had to say. He didn't want to call Sam and let him know that he had finally seen the light. This was a conversation that needed to happen face-to-face. Plus, what if Sam decided not to answer?

Since he was alone, that also gave him an opportunity to practice his speech out loud. A lot. He wanted his words to be perfect. How do you say _I'm sorry I'm an oblivious jackass and that it took me so long to get here. But if you come with me, I will do everything I can every minute of every single day to make you saying yes worth it._ Hmmm… Maybe those _were_ the words.

After travelling around for a while, honing his speech while he continued saving people and hunting things, Dad called Dean about a possible job on a road in Jericho, California. He also gave Dean a lead on a job in New Orleans.

"Why don't you go take care of the voodoo priest in New Orleans and then come meet me in Jericho when you finish up?" Dad offered. Then, with a heavy sigh, he said, "Maybe we can even think about dropping in and checking up on Sam."

Dean didn't want Dad along when he went to see Sam, but how could he possibly say no? He knew Dad would surreptitiously monitor Sam if he happened to be in the area for a job, but this sounded like he actually wanted to stop and visit with him. After a moment's hesitation, he said, "Sounds like a plan." If Dad noticed his pause, he didn't say anything.

But everything changed before that plan could be put into action.

Dean spent a little longer in New Orleans than he needed to. Apparently Dad was pretty busy with his job, because he didn't call to check on Dean. Time flew and before he knew it, more than two weeks had gone by. With everything in the land of voodoo back to the way it should be, Dean spent some time enjoying himself in the city and working himself up with a nervous energy with what he was about to do and how he expected his life to change. It was time to head to California.

The night before he hit the borders of the Golden State, he received a disturbing voicemail from Dad. And Dad didn't answer when Dean called back. This wasn't good at all. The trip to Sam would have to come before the trip to Jericho.

~oOo~

Someone was in the apartment. Jess was sound asleep beside him and there was someone else in their apartment.

A weight he was far too familiar with but had pushed out of his brain hoping to be forgotten pushed down on him from above.

Sam heard a small, easy chuckle followed by, "Whoa, easy, tiger." The streetlights pouring in from the windows illuminated the face hovering above him.

"Dean?" he asked incredulously. Dean's response was another soft laugh. "You scared the crap outta me."

Still smiling, Dean told him, "That's cause you're out of practice."

Sam grabbed one of the arms pinning him down and swiftly flipped them so he was now pressing Dean into the hardwood floor.

"Or not," Dean amended with amusement. "Get off me."

They stood up and stared at each other in the darkened room, Sam's face filled with confusion. "Dean, what the hell are you doing here?"

Dean clapped Sam on the arms, adjusted his clothes after the brief tussle, and said with a smile, "I was looking for a beer."

The click of the light switch being thrown to illuminate the room was accompanied by a speculative, "Sam?" Jessica stood in the doorway, hair pillow tousled, in her t-shirt and boy shorts.

"Jess. Hey." Sam answered a little breathlessly. "Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica."

Jess smiled at him warmly. "Wait, your brother Dean?"

Dean turned on his full-wattage charm and his eyes wandered over Jess appraisingly. "I love the Smurfs," he told her, pointing at her t-shirt. With a small chuckle he said, "You know, I gotta tell you, you are completely out of my brother's league."

Feeling quite a bit underdressed, especially for a first meeting with her boyfriend's brother, Jess said quickly, "Just let me put something on."

"No, no, no," Dean told her, looking all wide-eyed innocent, knowing this was his brother's girlfriend. "I wouldn't dream of it. Seriously." He turned his attention back to Sam. "Anyway, I gotta borrow your boyfriend here and talk about some private family business. But nice meeting you." He pointed at Jess again. Suddenly, Dean was re-thinking his planned speech.

Feeling protective, Sam stepped over to Jess and put an arm around her. One part of him felt that Dean needed to see a display of affection between them. Another part of him wanted Jess to anchor him so he didn't just run off with Dean, no matter the reason he was here. "No. No. Whatever you wanna say you can say in front of her."

Even though he didn't like it, Dean looked down then said, "OK. Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

_So this is Dean's flimsy excuse to come back, _Sam thought smugly. "So he's working overtime on the Miller Time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later."

Dean rolled his shoulders. This was serious. "Dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days."

The implications of that hit Sam in the gut. They may not have parted on good terms, but he never wanted anything bad to happen to Dad. "Jess, excuse us."

Sam immediately launched into an argument with Dean as soon as they were out of the apartment and out of earshot of Jess. He still had a lot of resentment built up toward Dean from the way they left things. He thought briefly of his pink phone and Dean's pillowcase that he still kept in the back of his closet. As much as he wanted to reach out and touch Dean, Sam also wanted to keep as much distance as possible between them so he didn't reach out and strangle him. Neither scenario would end well.

It was when Dean said "I can't do this alone" that Sam started to waver. He made one more attempt to distance himself from Dean when he scoffed at him and said, "Yes you can."

Dean looked away from him and said, "Yeah, well, I don't want to." He wanted to start his whole spiel, but caught himself and thought _Now is definitely not the time._

Sam broke down and asked what Dad was hunting and Dean popped the trunk and reviewed the case for him.

The absolute last straw was when Dean told Sam, "You know, in almost two years I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing." Sam hated that reminder. But at the same time, a seed of hope started blooming in his chest. Dean could most definitely find Dad on his own. He had to have come to Sam for another reason, right?

Dean watched Sam head back into the building. He tried to give himself a pep talk. "Nut up, Winchester. You've known him your whole life. You can say anything to him." Wait… he actually said that out loud. He shook his head and kept his eyes on the door for Sam to return.

There was a slight bounce in Sam's step as he ran upstairs to quickly throw a bag together. He kissed Jessica on the cheek when he left.

Sitting in the front seat of the Impala with Dean again, they were enveloped in silence, but it was not uncomfortable. He had stolen a few sideways glances at Dean. Dean kept his eyes on the road, his hands on the wheel, and a small smile played on his lips. Sam thought he may have even flicked his eyes over at Sam once or twice.

They were driving off into the night heading to Jericho and Sam realized this was it. Dean was finally ready.

Sam cleared his throat. There was no pause in his voice and he wasn't tentative with what he said. He turned slightly to Dean and with a strong, clear voice he said, "I never got a chance to ask you before: How is everything?"

Dean tossed one of his patented Dean Winchester grins across the seat at Sam. "Everything is good, Sammy. Everything is real good." He turned his attention back to the road, but a small smile stayed on his face. _Those were the perfect words, _he thought to himself. No big speeches needed.

Sam nodded casually in acknowledgement, one of his frowny-smiles curving his lips. Then he turned to the passenger side window so Dean couldn't see the huge smile that exploded across his face and carved his dimples so far into his cheeks it seemed his face would crack. It was when he caught a glimpse of his glowing reflection that his smile died, remembering the beautiful girl he just left whose heart he would have to break.

With that epiphany, life just got infinitely more complicated. But what choice did you have when your one true love and soul mate came for you?


End file.
